


Sins of our Fathers, Dreams of our Sons

by liobi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adult Life, Assassins, FTM John, Gen, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liobi/pseuds/liobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you walk down the hall, you stop by John’s room. He’s drawn another jester on his wall. Should you buy him another tube of those peanut snakes? You can stop by the joke store on the way home you suppose. You hope he likes them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of our Fathers, Dreams of our Sons

Your contact looks at you like you’re crazy when you inform her that your son got an “A” on his history test. You don’t really care, because you are so very proud of him. She sighs and hands you a photograph and a file. “That’s the mark. He’s nothing special, but his security team is one of the best. You’ll probably be able to handle it with the whole refrigerator thing though.” At least she doesn’t tell you to do “some kind of ninja magic shit” anymore. Your mother was Korean not Japanese you told her repeatedly. It eventually sunk in.

You nod and walk out of the office door. The guys at the water cooler greet you, and you them in kind. The office is a rather unremarkable building, inside and out. You suppose that was sort of the purpose. You get into your car and flip through the file. Dmitri Chekov, late fifties, former KGB, specifics of the mark request two shots to the chest and one to the head. The contractor wants it to look like it was done by another former KGB. 

Your contact was right when she said the security team were the ones you’d have to look out for. Their resumes were all impressive. Mercenaries, former drug runners, there were even a couple ex-Marines. The contract lists all six of them as expendables. You’d have to stop by the warehouse for a refrigerator. 

Darn, KGB shooting, you’d have to stop by the house and pick up your Makarov. You look at your watch. John should still be in school, and he has band practice after. The engine of your car rumbles to life, and you pull out of the lot. 

You think back to the time when your mother found out what you did as a “businessman.” She looked at you for three seconds before she pulled out a stack of files thicker than a phone book. She informed you what political figures you should avoid getting contracts on, and which ones you should take at first opportunity. She introduced you to new contacts and associates, supplied you with four fake passports in addition to the three you already had, and then she opened a fake panel in the wall and gave you her arsenal. 

When you asked her why she had all of this, she answered “I was preparing for a war.” Your father apparently never found out before he died. 

You pull up the driveway and walk into the house. When you get to your room, you open the closet and choose the fourth briefcase on the right and snap the clips open. The Makarov sits next to a business suit and some leather gloves. You don the suit and gloves, disassemble the gun and examine the parts before you reassemble it and wipe it down with a cloth. You load twelve rounds into the magazine and slip it into the sidearm. 

As you walk down the hall, you stop by John’s room. He’s drawn another jester on his wall. Should you buy him another tube of those peanut snakes? You can stop by the joke store on the way home you suppose. You hope he likes them. You briefly recall that there are still photos of John in dresses and pigtails in the family albums. You’re not really sure what to do with them, but you and he can discuss them with the gender therapist next Tuesday. 

When you get to the warehouse they already have a delivery truck running and ready for you, loaded with a refrigerator. You thank them and climb into the back as the driver pulls away. It doesn’t take long before you reach the location. The back opens and you wheel the fridge down the ramp as the driver kicks the back door in. It’s a small room with a few tables set up, and there’s a bar in the back. The six members of the security team look surprised and confused.

It takes a few seconds before anyone realizes what’s going on and by that time you’re already inside and have picked up the fridge. They’re drawing their guns when you throw the refrigerator, and it hits two of them before crashing into the wall. There’s four left and one of them is fairly close to you, so before he can do anything you pull the Makarov out of your jacket and put it under his chin before firing twice. 

The other three are diving for cover now, but you manage to kneecap one of them before he gets behind the bar. The other two are returning fire now and you can hear the cries of pain from the third, so you run through the room and hop over the bar, making sure to finish the injured man off. There’s an assault rifle behind the bar and you holster the sidearm and grab it. One of the men pokes their head out at the wrong time and a burst of gunfire from you makes it his last mistake. 

The last man knows he can’t win, so he calls out his surrender and slides his weapon across the room. He comes from behind the column with his hands up, watching you. You open fire. This was supposed to be an ex-KGB hit. No survivors.

When you open the door to a small office, you hear a gunshot and there’s pain in your left arm. Dmitri Chekov is old and has nerves of cold steel, but years of drinking have given him the shakes and he can’t aim properly enough to hit you dead on. The wound is only a scratch; you’ll be able to patch it up later. 

Two to the chest, one to the head, and then the contract is fulfilled. You disassemble the gun as you walk out of the small office, tossing the pieces into the trash on your way out of the building. There’s a different truck waiting for you this time, an air conditioner repair van. You climb in the back and the man drives off without a word. You change, leaving the bloodied business suit in the back of the van when you get out in favor of your shirt and slacks. 

You look at your watch again and see that John’s band practice has just started. You should go and watch. You love your son so very very much. You love him so much that you would keep killing to give him whatever he needs.

_“And lo I saw that the sins of the father would pave the way for the dreams of the son.” Inspirational Philosophy Speaker, Shaggy 2 Dope._


End file.
